


Baby Steps

by missmichellebelle



Series: Blarren Humfer at Hogwarts [1]
Category: Glee, Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Twins, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, blarren humfer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why don’t you just go talk to him?”</p><p>“Because that went so well the first time? And the second?” Darren raises an eyebrow. “Third? Fourth? Fifth? Thirty-second?”</p><p>“He’s just… Quiet. And you’re so… You.”</p><p>“You’re right, Blaine, that obviously clears up all of my problems. Thanks.” Darren rolls his eyes. “But he obviously doesn’t even know I exist.”</p><p>“…Darren, after what you did at that Quidditch match our second year, I’m pretty sure the entire school knows you exist.” Blaine pauses, glancing upwards contemplatively. “And probably will know for at least the next ten years.”</p><p>“What have I told you about talking about that?”</p><p>Blaine holds up his hands in surrender, and Darren nods—after all, he has plenty of dirt on Blaine to make him keep his mouth shut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Steps

“You’re mooning again.”

Darren blinks, making a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, but doesn’t pay Blaine any more attention. His eyes are focused instead on the space over Blaine’s shoulder where he can see the Ravenclaw table, a head of light brown hair bent low so that Darren can hardly see a face.

“Dare.”

Not that Darren’s never seen his face before, because he has. Many times. An excruciating number of times, really, because the few times he’s been close enough to appreciate it, his attention had hardly been encouraged. Maybe it’s a Ravenclaw thing. Then again, potions probably isn’t the time to try and count someone else’s freckles without their permission.

“Darren.” 

Bent over the way he is—working, he’s always working—Darren can just see the pinched concentration of his eyebrows and the slope of his nose. It’s lunchtime, and yet the table around him is cleared for books and parchment and ink. Darren rests his chin in his hand and sighs.

“ _Darren_.”

Darren jolts as water is suddenly flicked at his face, and his eyes shift and refocus on his brother, fingers poised over his goblet of water.

“What the fuck, Blaine,” Darren gripes, exasperated. It’s not a lot of water, at all, but it’s still totally uncalled for.

“You’re staring again,” Blaine responds simply, folding his hands on the wood of the table.

“Yeah, and?” Darren’s eyes flick over Blaine’s shoulder again.

“And…” Blaine pushes his mouth together and sighs. “Why don’t you just go talk to him?”

“Because that went so well the first time? And the second?” Darren raises an eyebrow. “Third? Fourth? Fifth? Thirty-second?”

“He’s just… Quiet. And you’re so… You.”

“You’re right, Blaine, that obviously clears up all of my problems. Thanks.” Darren rolls his eyes. “But he obviously doesn’t even know I exist.”

“…Darren, after what you did at that Quidditch match our second year, I’m pretty sure the entire school knows you exist.” Blaine pauses, glancing upwards contemplatively. “And probably will know for at least the next ten years.”

“What have I told you about talking about that?”

Blaine holds up his hands in surrender, and Darren nods—after all, he has plenty of dirt on Blaine to make him keep his mouth shut.

“Look, it’s probably weird as fuck for him. He probably doesn’t want to date someone who looks exactly like his brother’s boyfriend.”

And then Blaine is smiling, glancing over at the Gryffindor table with the same mooning expression Darren was probably wearing himself. The difference being that Blaine’s boyfriend, Kurt, looks up from his conversation and returns Blaine’s stupid lovesick puppy dog look.

Darren is happy for his brother, alright? But it doesn’t really stop the whole situation from sucking balls.

“Earth to Blaine.” Darren snaps his fingers, and that’s all it really takes for Blaine’s attention to turn back to him.

“We don’t look exactly alike,” Blaine continues, affronted. “I’m totally taller than you.”

“Oh fuck, we are not doing this again, you are not.”

“Plus you have that whole…” Blaine gestures around his own overly-gelled and styled head, “hair thing going on.”

Darren frowns, reaching up and touching his curls self consciously.

“There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

Blaine sighs.

“This isn’t about what you look like, okay. And trust me, Chris doesn’t think about that stuff.”

Well, shit. Darren’s looks are like… Eighty percent of what he has going for him. Without that he’s just… Twenty percent himself.

“Kurt told me—”

“No.” Darren levels a glare at his brother. “We aren’t doing all this telephone shit.” Darren leans on his hand again, eyes focusing on Chris as he straightens up and stretches his arms over his head, pushing his slipping glasses frames back up his nose. Darren is really happy that Chris is in Ravenclaw—the blue really does look wonderful with his eyes. “If Chris and I are… Whatever, I don’t know, then it’s going to be between us.”

“Yes, because you didn’t meddle at all when Kurt and I were getting together,” Blaine comments dryly.

“Oh come on. If I hadn’t intervened, you guys would still be doing that awkward best-friends-who-love-each-other dance.” Darren tears his eyes away from Chris drinking from a cup. “And that plan? Genius. Like you could ever come up with something like that.”

Blaine just sighs, but doesn’t respond, turning back to his sandwich while Darren goes back to… Pining, really. That’s the only word there is for it. The first time he really noticed Chris was their third year—he’d had classes with Ravenclaws before, but it was the first time he was in a class that Blaine wasn’t. It had been Ancient Runes, and, while Darren has since dropped any and all interest in the subject, it had been how Chris had come to his attention.

The problem being, of course, that Darren had never come to Chris’s. They’ve been partners in classes since then—whenever there’s the chance, Blaine always gives him a withering look and then goes off to make friends with someone new. And Darren, well, positions himself as close as possible without looking  _too_  conspicuous. It’s always worked. Every single time. Chris knows his name, but a good memory doesn’t mean there’s been a lasting impression.

No. Darren is pretty sure that Chris’s opinion of him measures somewhere around ‘over-excited idiot.’ He sighs again, settling more weight on his hand, and watches as Chris works on an assignment Darren probably forgot about.

*

The next time they have a Saturday in Hogsmeade, Darren has every intention of going to the village with his friends and not thinking about Chris. It’s generally what he tries to do whenever he goes to Hogsmeade, and sometimes he’s even successful—it’s easy, to make a girl smile, or laugh, or be interested. But then Darren will see Chris, somewhere, somehow, and he wonders why he’s even fooling himself.

He wonders how he ever got it  _so_  bad,  _so_  impossibly.

Darren isn’t the sort of person who gives up. If he wants something, he tries as hard as possible to get it. But, fuck, he can’t even become  _friends_  with Chris. It’s like there’s this wall there, hidden just behind the blue-grey color of Chris’s eyes, and Darren just keeps running into it face first.

So this Saturday, that’s the plan again, until Blaine catches him by the elbow in the common room and asks Darren to go to Hogsmeade with  _him_  instead.

“Aren’t you going with Kurt?” Darren asks, because Blaine and Kurt always go together. Even before they  _were_  together, they went together, staring at each other longingly when they thought the other one wasn’t looking. Darren used to go with them, sometimes, but seeing Blaine with Kurt was like looking at a picture of something Darren was never, ever going to have.

Kurt liked to call him jaded, and jealous, and bitter, and Blaine would place a restraining hand on Kurt’s forearm and shoot Darren an apologetic look.

Even though, really, it was all sort of true.

“No. Our anniversary is soon, so I wanted to get him something.”

Jaded, jealous, bitter, but Darren smiles anyway, because Blaine is happy and Darren can be happy for other people even if he isn’t happy himself.

“And you’re asking me to help you?” Darren raises an incredulous eyebrow.

“Stop fishing.” Blaine nudges him. “Would you meet me at the Three Broomsticks? And maybe… Dress a little nicer?” Blaine frowns at him. “So I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you in public?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Darren pushes him so that Blaine has to take two steps backwards. “Why do I have to meet you there? Can’t we just go together?”

“I need to go and tell Kurt why  _we_  aren’t going together, and you know how the Three Broomsticks can get.”

It does kind of turn into a zoo when the village fills with students.

“Fine. Go kiss your husband goodbye. I’ll see you there.”

But Darren doesn’t change, because fuck Blaine, there is nothing wrong with what Darren is wearing.

*

It’s early March, and the weather is still bitingly cold, the ground hard and frozen and frost sticking stubbornly where it shouldn’t. But Darren likes his sweaters and scarves and coats, even if it means wrangling an extra chair at the Three Broomsticks. It’s crowded, just as Blaine and Darren had anticipated, but Darren is able to snag a table relatively close to the fire yet still in view of the door.

He’s just ordered two butterbeers (the one time he’d tried to get something stronger had ended rather horribly) when Darren notices a familiar head of hair, a profile he’s stared at too often that he’s memorized it by now. He knows that he’s staring, and it would make things a million times worse when Chris turns and their eyes lock if Darren really gave any fuck about what Chris is thinking.

Well, he might care a little bit (or, like, a lot, whatever).

Except, Darren can’t think too much on being caught staring, because, unlike every other time this has almost happened, Chris’s eyes don’t continue past him. They stay, staring straight back at Darren, until his eyebrows raise slightly.

Darren feels giddy with even that small motion. It’s  _recognition_. It’s  _something_. It’s a budge in this endless uphill battle Darren seems to be fighting (and that he thought he was losing horribly).

He’s still staring when suddenly a mirror image appears—Kurt is there, and  _fuck_ , because the whole point of this was to avoid Kurt so they could buy a gift. Even if all Darren wants to do is forget about his plans with Blaine and trail around after Chris like a puppy (a very lost, cute puppy, not a creepy, stalkery one). Kurt’s eyes land on Darren, too, and he suddenly feels cornered, wondering what’s going to happen next. Except that Kurt sort of just grins at him, says something that’s drowned out by the raucous noise of the inn, and then nudges Chris— _towards Darren?_

Something is up. Darren generally has a sixth sense about these sorts of things, even if bells and whistles weren’t going off as Chris winds through the room to get to the table where Darren is sitting. Okay, it’s probably just a coincidence. Maybe there’s someone behind Darren who’s caught Chris’s attention— _fucker_.

But Darren can’t look away, drinking in the pretty cut of Chris’s coat and the knit and obviously loved scarf wound tightly around his throat, the way the cold has bitten pink into his nose and cheeks.

Darren picks at his own sweater self consciously, and remembers what Blaine had said:  _And maybe… Dress a little nicer?_  Fuck, Darren really should have—

Wait a fucking  _second_.

He does tear his eyes away then, flicking back to find Kurt, and—sure enough, there’s Blaine, and they’re already leaving. Darren’s eyebrows furrow, and he stares out the window as they disappear down the street, and Blaine is  _so_  fucking explaining this later.

“Um.”

Darren jerks in his surprise, making the table rattle when his foot knocks it, but he steadies it with his hands (and also sort of uses it to get a grip on himself, too).

Chris is there, Chris is talking to him, Darren really hopes this isn’t about school.

“Hi,” Darren rushes to say, and grins as best he can—which is pretty good. He’s pretty awesome at the whole mustering-a-grin thing. Chris’s lips twitch back hesitantly, and he shifts. His scarf is Ravenclaw colors and he plays with it, like it’s a nervous habit. But he doesn’t say anything, avoiding Darren’s eyes, but… No, fuck no. He doesn’t know what his brother is up to, but he’s not about to waste an opportunity like this. “Would you like to sit down?”

He doesn’t mention how he was supposed to be meeting someone, but that someone just disappeared somewhere to no doubt make out with Chris’s twin. Probably not the best casual conversation.

Chris looks hesitant for a moment, throwing looks around and over his shoulder—it sort of makes Darren’s stomach drop. Is it so bad to be seen in public with him? But then Chris nods, slipping into the chair, just as butterbeers are set in front of them. Right. Darren had ordered two. Chris looks at him incredulously.

“Professor Liora says I’m a master at divination,” Darren lies smoothly, and Chris’s lips smirk in a smile.

“You don’t take Divination,” Chris replies, knowingly, his finger playing with the edge of the glass, and Darren shrugs shamelessly.

“I’m just  _that_  good.”

And Chris snorts this time, reaching up to muffle the laughter in his hand, and Darren feels a sense of victory building before he pushes it down.  _Too soon_. But it’s a step, a  _baby_  step, in the right direction. Okay, so he’s like, totally crazy about Chris in that sort of  _I want you so badly because I can’t have you_  sort of way, but friends is doable? Right?

Darren can totally be friends with someone he wants to make out with.

“No, but really, drink it,” Darren says, when he notices the way Chris is just feeling at the glass rather than picking it up. “Unless you don’t like butterbeer?” Which would, you know, be weird, but Darren’s sure there are people who don’t like it. He can look past that. “I can order you something else?”

“Oh, no, this is, um, fine. Thanks.” Chris looks a little flustered, and Darren finds it incredibly endearing.

Okay, so there might be  _more_  to all this than the fact that Chris is pretty much unattainable.

“Blaine told me to meet him here,” Darren finds himself saying, because he’s some sort of dumbass, apparently, and ends up talking about their brothers even when he told himself he shouldn’t. “But I kind of get the feeling he ditched me for better company.”

“So you were tricked, too?” Chris asks, and he glances up at Darren in a way that makes Darren want to lurch over the table, grab his face, and kiss him senseless.

“Blaine said he needed help picking out a gift.” Darren rests his chin on his hand. “That should have been hint enough. He thinks I have shit taste in presents.” He inclines his head forward, inquisitively, and smiles when Chris seems to catch the cue.

“…Kurt told me there was a new shipment at Scrivenshaft’s,” Chris admits quietly, tracing his finger distractedly along the wooden grain of the table.

“Looking for anything particular?”

Chris shakes his head, glances up again, and he  _really_  should stop doing that or Darren can not be held accountable for his actions.

“Not really. I just… Sort of have a thing for quills and ink, I guess.”

Darren knows. Almost every time he’s seen Chris in Hogsmeade, he’s been inside the quill shop or the book store, glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose, and completely by himself. It always seemed, to Darren, like those were the best moments to try and interact with Chris. Except he’d always stopped himself. Probably because the way Chris always seemed around books and parchment and ink was so different than the way he seemed around people—calmer, more at ease. Sort of makes Darren wish he was a quill—like a sexy quill, maybe.

“Well.” Darren sits back, tapping his palms rhythmically against his thighs. “Let’s go then.”

“Excuse me?” Chris’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Well, there’s no reason we can’t still go look at quills, right?”

Chris just continues to stare at him, his look disbelieving until something seems to click behind his eyes. He holds Darren’s gaze, like a challenge.

“You… Want to go with  _me?_ ”

Darren resists the urge to roll his eyes, to say, “are you fucking kidding me?” or something ridiculously more embarrassing, like, “I sort of worship you.”

“Um,  _yeah_ ,” Darren says instead, and is rewarded with a beautiful smile.

“Well…” Chris picks up his butterbeer at last, and touches the caramel colored liquid to his lips. Darren is staring—he is full out  _ogling_ —but he doesn’t really care. He sits too far away from Chris in the Great Hall to ever see something as fascinating as the way Chris’s throat moves when he swallows.

But then Chris is clearing his throat, his cheeks the prettiest pink, and Darren flashes him a grin that’s not even a little sheepish—he’s interested, and Chris should know.

“We should, um. Finish these first.” Chris stares down at his cup, rather than meeting Darren’s eyes.

 _Baby steps_.

Darren picks up his cup, and clinks it against Chris’s, drawing his attention.

“Sounds like a plan.”


End file.
